


Bonus Chapter: The Sickly Branch

by veridium_bye



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Family, Family Drama, Free Marches (Dragon Age), Gen, Trevelyan (Dragon Age) has Sibling(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 05:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridium_bye/pseuds/veridium_bye
Summary: A death in the family of Bann Trevelyan calls upon Theia to revisit sore wounds from her past. Compelled by the forgiving nature of her Lover and Ambassador, she embarks on a return to the first home she ever knew, in order to aid a sister who failed her. The result is a ridiculous mess of politics and prejudice – or, what any Orlesian family would refer to as a “Thursday.”





	Bonus Chapter: The Sickly Branch

The letter was fireplace-bound, no doubt about that. She gripped it with malice in her skin, the kind you got from a deep hunger for retribution. But, there it was, too fancy and well-made for such idleness.

Gritting her teeth, she tossed it onto her desk like a tissue rag, roughly leaning back in her chair.

“I don’t understand why I have to be bothered with this. I am a third-born, surely this is a matter of formality,” Theia’s voice was laced with sore venom.

Josephine, only with her own two hands and no formal clipboard in sight, stood in front of her desk like an attendant. Her face was one of cautious compassion. “Mi amor, I know you and your mother were not…close, but, it is an invitation nonetheless. I advise you to go, if not for the diplomacy of the situation, than for your own sake.”

“And be the family pariah once more, for her death? I’d rather die and be her body double,” she huffed, getting up from her chair and snatching the piece of paper, approaching her fireplace mantle with irreverence.

“Theia! Just stop and hear what I have to say?” Josephine followed after her a few steps, ready to snatch the letter from the clutches of the flames.

“Josephine, you have no idea what this woman put me through as a “daughter.” She hardly deserves theatrics from me now. Besides, I have more important things to be doing with my time than catering to the self-preservation of a family who would adorn me as their own personal blight,” she turned and faced the Ambassador, who was also her all-too-compassionate and reasonable lover.

“The letter came with a personal note from your sister, Lady Lucilla, asking for your presence—“

“Astonishing that my sister can speak words to a Diplomat and not to me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering I was a loyal sister for years without so much as a thank you or defense on my behalf.”

Josephine sighed lightly, feeling the tension reverberating off of the walls. Her hands toyed with each other in front of her as she did the delicate dance of persuasion.

“From what she had written, you two have not spoken in many years. Perhaps she felt alienated. The gesture still stands, and I believe it right to honor it.”

“Josephine, there is no way I am sending myself to the Free Marches, even for my Mother’s death. She would not bother for such a ceremony if it were my body on the pyre.”

“But, Theia, we do not conduct ourselves based on what is promised in reciprocity, but what is the right thing to do objectively. You know this, you live by it. Do not let her character degrade your stature.”

Theia chewed at the inside of her cheek, folding her arms as she contemplated the ludicrous notion that she would show herself to such a family, to such an aristocracy. The very idea made her ill to her stomach. Seeing her siblings again, who would undoubtedly come pecking after her skirts with fake sentimentalities for the sake of a dead Mother? Even more to revile.

“This is going to be agony for me, you know that? Why ask me for something that is everything I haven’t the strength or patience for?”

“Because I know and love you, and because you rise to every challenge, and have integrity in doing so.”

“Again with the ego appeal, I see.”

Josephine approached her, reaching and resting a hand on Theia’s arm. She watched as Theia’s eyes scanned the room restlessly, trying to find a place for her mind and body to escape this ridiculous situation. Then, the Inquisitor took a breath and managed to relax her shoulder some, surrendering.

“Would you be able to go with me, then? Since this is more your idea than my own.”

Josephine’s eyebrow raised, feeling surprised to hear an actual deliberative statement from Theia, who looked like steam was about to arise from her ears. “If that is what you need of me, I will most certainly oblige. But I advise that I go as your Chief Diplomat, and not…”

“I did not insinuate otherwise. Can you imagine the pandemonium of me arriving just out of principle? Then add my lover into the mix, you’d probably have six of my cousins Cloister themselves before the day’s end.”

“You sound like Lord Dorian when you talk like that, you know.”

A moment of rigid silence filled the space as Theia’s leg twitched, her body wishing to rebuke any and all aspects of the situation and pretend it never happened.

“Alright, fine. We leave in the morning. If you do not mind, you will have to wear different attire,” Theia’s deeply suppressed memories of her childhood were rising from their graves, much to her chagrin. First and foremost was addressing the ridiculous standards of clothing and conduct her family and their likeminded associates instilled.

“I suspected as much. Would traditional Orlesian gowns be appropriate?”

“No, I’m afraid not. My Aunt and her crowd have established their own paradigm of fashion in the Free Marches, I’m afraid. But, do not tell them how much it reminds you of Fereldan garments, it will send them into a fit of tantrums,” Theia growled under her breath as she returned to her chair and sat down.

Josephine’s eyes widened slightly. “I will have us do a stop halfway so as to buy from a reputable Merchant, then. Thank you, Inquisitor, I will withdraw back to my office now.”

“We will finish discussing this after dinner, surely,” Theia huffed again, mentioning the generous favor she would later pine for when they would reunite behind closed doors after a day of work.

“Yes, yes, to the ends of the Earth, surely,” Josephine assured as she made her way downstairs. It was going to be a verbal sparring match for the ages.

–

They had endured a brooding carriage right up through Fereldan roads, and then across the sea to the shores of the Free Marches. As Theia watched the mountainous waves of trees and plowed land go by them from the window of yet another carriage, her flight or fight response started to kick in. They brought none of her weapons, no Staff could protect her now. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be the source of terror for all of the Ostwick nobility.

They sat on the same side of the Carriage, letting the thick abundance of their traveling capes cover their hand-holding as Theia mustered the resolve to endure what lay ahead. Meanwhile, Josephine was arming herself with her own weapons – she had perused numerous missives and reports on the current regional politics, and was now privy to most anything that could arise from the mouths of both the Trevelyans and their accolades. Such equipment was invaluable.

They turned onto a road that was well-kept, and pristine Orlesian-style walls blurred past them. Theia’s heart began to race. The familiarity of such a sight was burned into her memory, no more painful than the last time she had seen them at the age of 14, the year they sent her to the Circle to live full-time.

The women were dressed in that famed Trevelyan fashion: velvet gowns, modest and appropriate for the gathering to mourn. They were long-sleeve and high-collared dresses, with full A-line skirts that left much to the imaginations. Theia’s was a similar rich blue to that of ring velvet, while Josephine’s was a deep, almost black shade of purple. In her ears were two simple stud earrings, half-covered by her up-do. Theia opted to let her hair down for this particular event, broadcasting her claim to the infamous Trevelyan hair genetics.

They entered a gateway to an Estate, and down a ¼ mile of road overlooking a small vineyard, they had made their away to a broad building. The columns were white, but downplayed by the overcast skies yielding no sunlight so as to reflect off of their bright colors. The curtains were all drawn in the windows so as to enhance an atmosphere of lamentation.

Josephine couldn’t help but marvel at the quaintness of it – not out of lack of wealth, but intention, as it seemed. She clutched the nape of her fur-lined cape and hood, preparing for their carriage exit. Theia regrettably had to let go of her hand and put on the persona in full force.

After coming to a stop, the carriage door was opened, and a dutiful hand reached in so as to guide the Inquisitor out into the open air. Swiftly, she stepped out, busying herself with adjusting her cumbersome skirts as Josephine stepped out behind her. No one of the family was waiting to herald the guests like tradition would predict. It made Theia’s indignant mood even more perturbed.

“I see a Trevelyan knows how to welcome a fellow Trevelyan,” she commented, turning to face her Ambassador.

“My Lady,” the man who had helped her from the carriage spoke now, “the family would be assembled here, but the gathering started an hour ago. They have all convened to the Great Hall. Rest assured, they are anticipating your arrival all the same.”

“See, Inquisitor? Such missteps can be overlooked in times such as these,” Josephine attempted to mediate, although the landing was proving rough.

Theia inhaled, a hand holding onto her hood as a breeze came through. “Fine, fine, I know how they make excuses like foxes in the brush. Let us get it over with then. If it is a dramatic and interruptive entrance they want, so be it,” she waited for Josephine to approach, before they made their way up the stairs side-by-side.

The foyer was rectangular and cavernous, adorned with portraits and sculpture pillars. The walls were a warm shade of mahogany, quite contrasted with the Orlesian proclivity of blues and golds. Josephine could see now where a comparison to Fereldan style would be most taboo as they were guided by a servant to the Great Hall entrance.

They stopped at the door, the servant slipping inside so as to warn whoever would announce their arrival. Theia’s posture was proper and tense, shoulders back and ready to break boulders with their reservoir of strength.

“Theia,” Josephine whispered, “it is going to be alright.”

“You don’t know them, Josephine,” Theia looked down at her hands, as she coupled them in front of her.

Before the Ambassador could reply, the doors opened with ceremony, and soon a great wide room beckoned their entrance. As Theia hardened herself and stepped forward, the announcement echoed:

“Announcing the arrival of Lady Inquisitor Theia Sofia Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, Third-Born to Ser Collin Trevelyan, Lord of this House. Accompanying her is Lady Josephine Montilyet of Antiva, Chief Ambassador to the Inquisition.”

The room thundered to shock and silence as all faces turned to see the guests that had arrived fashionably late to a woman’s funeral. There she was, tall, pale, and impatient – a Trevelyan in a tight spot.

She stopped at a third of the way into the room, and unhooded herself, unclasping the cape from around her neck and handing it to the servant who announced her, who took it knowingly. Josephine followed her lead with ease.

Now properly exposed, Theia turned her attention to the assemblage of figures standing and sitting across the room in adorned chairs and benches. She held her breath and pushed out her chest as she walked, her footfalls on the marble the only noise echoing in the room.

She walked towards a man, white-bearded and tall, with no Orlesian mask or decoration in his austere attire. He was pale like her, and had her nose. Her father, Collin Trevelyan, watched as his youngest child walked toward him like she was walking into an unsheathed sword.

To his left, a woman no older than 30. She had a more angular and frail face than her sister, but was still a beauty in her own way. Her equally pearlescent hair was in a tight up-do with braids throughout, and her velvet gown was opaquely black. She looked as if she had stopped breathing. Then next to her, her husband, a much older looking fellow who looked as if he hadn’t a clue as to the brevity of the situation.

To Collin’s right, his son, and in many ways his likeness: Tristan, the oldest and most educated. His face had begun to show shallow wrinkling, an a few grey hairs in his temples let it show even more. A scholarly face, a pious face, with an expression of unrest and one might be so bold as to suggest, anger.

Her graceful steps brought her to stand in front of them all, a horizon of disappointing people. Josephine remained a few steps behind, watching as the Inquisitor tucked a leg behind the other and curtsied. When she arose from her greeting, she eyed them all, calculating.

“My most illustrious family, I heard our Mother is yet to have coins burned into her eyes?” she provoked, sending whispers and grumbling like a tidal wave throughout the room. Josephine felt pang of nerves in her gut, hearing Theia speak with such irreverent bitterness. Perhaps this wasn’t wise after all.

“Theia Sofia,” her father said with a warm sentimentality.

“You may call me Inquisitor Trevelyan, my Father.”

He shook his head in amazement, stepping down from the family’s apparent altar to itself. He approached her placing his hands on her upper arms.

“You…” he gasped under his breath, “you look so much like her.”

From behind, Lucilla cringed secretly. Even she knew that wasn’t a wise compliment to make.

“We all do, Father, the pool of breeding in our echelon is hardly known for variety nowadays,” she responded curtly.

Collin seemed undaunted in his welcome. He kissed Theia’s forehead, a move which sent a shock of anger down her spine that she kept hidden. Pulling back to look at her again, he eyed her from toe to hair.

“You have become a beautiful young woman, and so accomplished. I read of your travels every day. Come, join your sister, and sit,” he reached an arm around her shoulder like a the good and generous father she longed for all these years, but the investment felt hollow to her. Appearances and shows, that is all that remained in her eyes. But she went along, not wanting to be overly insufferable right out the gate.

She turned quickly to nod towards her Ambassador, who in turn got the memo that it was time to schmooze and socialize. She went off to the side, finding a niche with two or three other nobles, who gladly gestured toward a nearby servant to bestow a chalice of wine to her. As she took her first sip, she noticed two things: one, that the wine was utterly sour, and two, that Theia looked like the trouble child who had come back for her reckoning. Only Orlesians would see the mourning of a death as an opportunity for such things.

As Theia was escorted up the three stairs to the embellished stone bench where her sister had sat alone – the seat their mother would have taken had she still been alive – she was greeted by Lucilla, who looked ready to apologize for every bad thing that ever happened in the world, and then some.

Theia came to face her, bowing once more, before eyeing her shy and meek sister. “Lucilla, my, you have grown into your womanhood,” she managed to say.

“Theia, my sister, I…” Lucilla hesitated, ever critical about the way she acted, talked, and behaved. She was trained well by an acute and exacting mother.

Rolling her eyes, Theia, took hold of her sister’s wrist. “Oh, don’t overflow with nostalgia, Lucilla, I am sure your silence will comfort me as it always did where your actions fell short,” she turned and prepared to take her seat. Never one for elitism, Theia found it oddly frustrating to sit at a throne with company.

Lucilla sighed, and sat down alongside her.

“Theia, I know how resentful you must be,” she whispered, looking like a dear sister speaking in confidence, “but you must know I meant only the best in sending for you. You have no idea how much this means to Father.”

“Pity,” Theia was served with a chalice, which she promptly took a gulp out of, “the last time I was told something to that affect I was being shipped off like Druffalo to the slaughter.”

Lucilla was caught off-guard by her sister’s bluntness. She straightened her posture, rebuffed and silenced for now. Josephine watched it all, biting at the side of her lip as she regaled some nobleman with her impression of the illustrious Free Marches.

Then, the Great Hall doors opened again with another esteemed guest’s entrance. This time, much older, and much more brutal in demeanor: filing in with three ladies-in-waiting a quarter of her age, it was Lady Diana, Comtesse and heiress to Theia’s matrilineal fortune. In short, Theia’s Aunt, who was there to grieve her darling baby sister now dearly departed.

As she came to the fore, her critical gaze found Theia sitting like a lady who had always belonged but had never been seen, and she could not help but take the liberty to scoff.

“Theia Sofia Trevelyan, and I heard you were leading a Holy War in the mountains. How decent of you to show in order to grieve the woman who birthed you into this world by the Maker’s grace.”

Oh wonderful, now take a sip every time someone erroneously mentions the Maker or Andraste in their petty comments.

“Aunt Diana, and here I thought you were busy fertilizing a tree,” Theia spat back, holding her chalice to her lips. Lucilla rolled her eyes closed with dread.

“My Darling, if I were, my spirit would implore you to stand under it so as to fall and be of use to society.”

Well, now I know from where she inherits her wit, Josephine thought to herself.

“Now, now, my dear sister, let us gather and be inspired by my late wife’s memory to love and take care of each other,” Collin’s thundering voice beckoned a redemption from the situation that hadn’t a chance for it.

Lady Diana curtsied with a regal body language. “As you wish, Brother, but some stenches cannot be so easily aired out from gilded windows,” she dismissed herself to socialize on her own time and with company worthy of her stature.

Theia turned away to roll her eyes, fearing they would actually fall out of her skull.

“Don’t mind her, she has been drinking disgusting elixirs every morning to preserve her youth. It has left her in a fowl mood most every day, Father can hardly stand it anymore,” Lucilla whispered, trying to win over her sister with confidence and gossip. A true Orlesian affection.

“It’s not my concern that Mother isn’t the only one being embalmed. Why did you invite me here if I am only to be a boon on another superficial Soiree?” Theia hissed back.

Lucilla bit her lip, her eyes going instinctively to their brother who talked amongst other men. Unbeknownst to him, Lucilla had cause for concern.

“Theia, Tristan is forcefully securing his inheritance to the detriment of the rest of the family. I need reinforcement from a sibling,” she said short.

Theia, truly astonished at her sister’s audacity, repressed a humorless laugh in her chest. “You can’t be serious? What use am I? Stage me as a thief and run off with Mummy’s gold?” she mocked in return.

“Theia, please,” Lucilla warned, looking over her shoulder to ensure privacy enough to say what was next. “There will be a congress of us children, Father, and Aunt Diana to settle business. They were not expecting you to come, and thus were not planning on factoring you in. I have seen Mother’s will, she did not omit you like we all believed.”

“And what makes you think I have an interest in whatever she’s left me?”

“If your inclusion does not promise wealth, it promises authority. Parlay with me, protect our brother from himself. He is a scholar, and esteemed by his colleagues, but he is a fool. I want to see some of Mother’s resources put to substantial use, like renovating the Estate, or adding to the vineyards.”

“Truly noble causes. Thedas will remember your philanthropic heroism.”

“Theia, please. I have no other option. My husband is wealthy enough to be unamused by these negotiations. This is a personal affair for me, and nothing else.”

“Lucilla, you are out of your depth, and invite problems you do not need. And in your true fashion, you invite me to fix them for you,” Theia then shot back the last gulp of wine, and noisily set the chalice down on the banquet table before them. Rising from her seat, she felt her hand being grabbed, and turned to look back at her older sister.

“Come to the smaller dining hall, where Uncle Gregory’s portrait is hung, in three hour’s time. That is when the meeting is. I implore you.” She whispered, before letting her sister stomp off.

Theia sauntered to her Father’s side, gathering his attention easily. “Father, if you do not mind, I wish to show my Ambassador the grounds and to our rooms that Lucilla has prepared for us. I will see you this evening,” she said with less venom in her words. Her father’s pitifully warm face disarmed her more than she wanted to admit.

“Oh, of course, darling. Take all the time you need. It’s…” he sighed, placing a hand on her forearm, “you could burn half of the vineyards down, and I would still rejoice in your presence.”

Theia was caught off guard by her father’s honesty and exaggeration. It was like being dumped in ice water after spending a day in the desert. Respectfully, she nodded, and saw herself out, being sure to beckon her Ambassador to follow. From the opposite corner of the room, Lady Diana watched with piqued interest. The Comtesse had honed in on the wild card horse in the race.

–

“It is a wonder he believed me, when in truth there is so little I remember from this place,” Theia said as they walked down another wide, expansive hall, decorated with artwork and manicured potted plants.

Josephine couldn’t help but gawk a little, the place was such an obscure hybrid of tastes and traditions. She had so many questions that she knew Theia either could not answer, or hadn’t the stomach to entertain. Still, being there with her was endearing in its own way. Seeing the first place she ever knew to be home, even though it ended so abruptly in betrayal, gave her insight into who she was.

“The Trevelyan hair. I had read about it, and heard about it, but it is truly a sight to see,” Josephine commented as she walked shoulder-to-shoulder, teetering on the line between close friends and something more intimate.

“Pfft, we look like we got left in the snow for a season to freeze. When I was first sent to the Circle, the other girls teased that I was the Empress of Ice, to contrast Celene’s “Empress of Fire” title. It gained momentum when I showed a fondness for Ice abilities,” in this environment, Theia clung to her memories of the Circle, partly out of self-preservation, but also resentment.

“What about your life here, Theia? Surely, you must have some fond memories that are not embroiled in politics or anger,” Josephine prodded a bit, but with good intentions.

“I remember Soirees, banquets, and garden parties. I remember them from the view of a window,” Theia stiffened as they rounded a corner, nearing the wing with the family bedchambers.

Eventually, they came to a rotunda with three halls connecting it as the epicenter. Along one portion of the wall was a portrait of the family, a break in the motif of single-person paintings and scenery. Theia approached it, mouth opening as she realized what it was.

Josephine followed, and she, too, marveled at what felt like a snapshot from another, faraway reality.

“This…this is your family?” she said out loud, to point out the obvious.

Theia remained quiet, eyeing the faces, the details in the paint.

First she noticed the woman seated in a gilded chair, poised, with proper posture and soft, rounded shoulders. One hand rested on her lap, the other on an armrest. Her figure was petite and yet, domineering, topped off by a full head of more yellow-blonde hair than her children’s. Beside her, her tallest daughter, standing and holding a book with one palm as she seemed to be turning a page. Her mousy nose and chin gave away which sister it was. Then, standing behind the neighboring loveseat was a proud and strong looking man, well-dressed and light-haired. He was missing the beard, though, at that time. He looked back at the painter, staring with reassurance, an intelligence in his eyes. On the seat in front of him sat his teenage son, sitting like a gentleman with legs crossed at the ankles and arms rounded around his frame.

Theia’s eyes wandered knowingly for the side of the painting with her mother again. There, also standing, with her face towards the portrait painter but shoulders turned towards her mother, was little Theia. Her hair was down and curled, and one foot was lifted so as to only touch the ground with the toe of her shoe. She wore a gown that was plumed and only went down to her calves. Her face was stoic for a young girl, as if she was keeping a life-changing secret.

Theia’s throat hardened when she remembered just what that secret was. She also remembered asking her dear Father if she may stand beside him for the portrait, but the gendering of the bonds took priority over her distaste for her Mother’s temperament towards her.

“This was done when I was no older than six years old. It was a gift for my Father on his 40th year. He had just taken on the Estate from his Father, and my Mother wanted to further legitimize us as the heir apparent family.”

Her words were cold and distant, without sympathy.

Josephine eyed her, before returning to analyze the portrait. It was well-done, typical for the patronage of an Orlesian noble house. Knowing the truth behind the image, though, left a salted taste in her mouth.

“Theia, your Mother…” she said, noticing a detail in the paint colors.

“Hm?” Theia took a step back in order to face Josephine.

“Her…eyes. They are purple, are they not?” she asked cautiously.

Theia turned to look at the face of her Mother, but she already knew the answer to Josephine’s question. She had always known.

“Yes. They are her eyes as they are mine. An elusive trait, I am told.”

“I assumed your eye color came from your powers. You did not tell me the organic nature of them.”

“Why would I? Celebrate having the same blistering and critical gaze as the woman who watched me leave the only home she ever knew to be governed and kept like livestock with skirts?” Theia was closing herself off, feeling the sting of it all being too close for comfort.

“Theia, I did not mean to imply that.”

The Inquisitor turned away from the portrait swiftly, and in doing so turning away from the bluntness of it all. “I think we should find our rooms, so that I may rest before the meeting. I will surely have to gird my loins for such an occasion.”

Josephine wanted to say more, but once again she feared overstepping her bounds. So, when asked, she followed, and eventually they found two guest rooms with doors on opposite sides of the hall. Before parting, Theia lacked the restraint to leave Josephine’s cheek without a kiss. She did so with discretion, even with the slight blush in Josephine’s complexion, before they retired individually to rest.

–

Three hours past with agonizing apathy, but, there she was, walking to the family dining hall which would surely reinvent itself as a lion’s den in due time. Her instincts as Inquisitor left her ready to field attacks from mercenary assassins on her way there, and truthfully a part of her was disappointed in the lack of backstabbing thus far. Though, the night remained young and promising.

Theia did not bother with an audience announcement or even knocking as she opened the double-doors to the dining hall, which was generously lit and filled to the brim with duplicitous emotions. Head turned, though fewer in number, to see who just felt so comfortable as to barge in.

“Theia, my dear, how kind of you to join us,” Lord Trevelyan held his arms out, as if he had been expecting her this whole time. The man was truly pining for any ounce of attention she was willing to give, and it unnerved her. The Father she knew was calculated, logical, and had no muss or fuss about most anything. Perhaps his wife dying softened him beyond recognition.

“I hear there are family theatrics to be a part of other than stuffing faces in a Great Hall, so I will happily oblige,” she answered cleverly, coming to her Father’s side and taking hold of his extended hand. She used it to take a seat to his left side, parallel to her sister. The daughters now encased their patriarch in their reach.

Lucilla, never one for smugness, looked as though Andraste herself had kissed her on the forehead and dropped sovereigns in her lap. Watching Theia settle in, her joy was only curbed by the seething disdain she now felt from the other end of the banquet table. For, in all her glory, there was Lady Diana, taking the seat of where her sister would have been. To her direct right was Tristan, bluntly displaying just where his ideological loyalty was located.

“Father, why has she been invited? Lucilla, is this your conniving?” Tristan was now borderling frothing at the mouth with unrest, a mood that intrigued Theia’s masochistic desires.

“She is here because she is your sister and is thus entitled to the knowledge of her Mother’s estate and bearings,” Lucilla managed to quip back, in a surprising show of wit. Maybe she did, in fact have a backbone. Or, her patience could have been worn that thin.

Tristan scoffed with skepticism. Eyeing his all-knowing Aunt, who in turn remained expressionless, he leaned back in his chair.

“She has no write to anything. I am the lawful heir to Mother’s inheritance, as I am to Father’s. It is only befitting that I manage what is left of her finances and holdings.”

Theia sighed to herself. There was really no time for formality. Gazing up at her Father, she noticed the strain in his face. Like he was watching a newborn deer walk into the den of a wolf.

Lucilla’s voice interrupted her quiet observations.

“Tristan, you spend half the year at the University, beguiling school girls with your money, and then half the year taking shelter here for your liver to recover. You have shown me reason to question bestowing you such a responsibility.”

“You bestow me nothing, sister, you are barely my equal on a good day.”

“I am just as much Mother’s child as you, and I will have my say.”

“Your say, or your funds to spend on your parlor goods your husband won’t trifle with?”

“Tristan. Lucilla. End this,” there was the infamous Lord Trevelyan thunder, roaring but with little weight behind the storm. Theia watched quietly as they tuckered themselves out, though she did not deflect attention entirely.

“Now, now, Collin. You cannot throw a fox into the chicken pen and expect all of the birds to tire themselves out from flying about for dear life. Before anything is set in stone, I beg we inquire as to why Lady Theia has honored us with her presence tonight?” Lady Diana’s words cut to the heart of the issue like a blade. All eyes were on the youngest Trevelyan now, who seemed all-too-tired of being in the spotlight already.

“Surely, Madame, you cannot suggest that the Herald of Andraste would be filed to the margins of her own Mother’s Estate,” Theia tested the waters for any jaws ready to bite on the bait.

“A title I hear you blaspheme every hour of every day,” Tristan countered, tilting his shoulders down in her direction.

“Tell me, my Brother, how many women you compel to scream for the Maker’s mercy, and we shall know which of us is better deserving of their stature,” her innuendo as cold as it was exacting. She stared him down from her periphery, ready for the verbal jugular vein to expose itself.

“I will after you tell me, sister, how many you have killed for the mistake of being in the company of a Mage.”

At that remark, Theia sent her eyes into a current of purple malice, and she widened them ever so slightly. Tristan flinched like the predictable coward he was.

“Theia, please, cut it out,” Lucilla asked, her hands falling flat on the table surface. At her request, Theia turned and stared back at her, blinking her irises once into dormancy once more.

“I have come to ensure my values and virtues as an Orlesian and indeed, as Inquisitor, are upheld in this negotiation. I can hardly sit by while my family’s resources are mishandled. I am, though no fault of my own, a product of this Bann,” she spoke like a Diplomat now, heeding the rhetoric of her traveling companion who stayed in her suite so as to let Theia seem stronger on her own.

Lady Diana smirked. “A lovely tale, I wonder if she bought it off a Bard.”

“Diana, please, it would do us all some good if we maintain a sense of sincerity and modesty in these conversations. This is, after all, in the legacy of my wife, and your Mother. She would not want us to get lost in the schematics of petty issues.”

“Mother invented schematics of petty issues, Father, or do you forget what “boarding school” I was sent to in my 14th year?” Theia eyed the fireplace.

“You would do wisely to hold your tongue, speaking ill of my dear sister!” Lady Diana showed a twinge of anger in her voice. It was like smelling blood to Theia, who was learning more and more about what everyone was trying to hide whilst all sat at the same table.

“Be that as it may, Theia, she was a woman of refinement and respect. I wish us to all honor that here. Tristan, perhaps you would be interested in enjoining with your sister in managing the inheritance together? A collaboration between your intelligence and her closeness to our home and our heritage would do us proud.”

Theia couldn’t help but want to laugh at that statement. When she heard a guttural sound of insult from her brother’s end, she felt confirmed in her opinion of it.

“I would sooner castrate myself,” he said colorfully, making his sisters each have their own faces of disgust.

“Tristan, your crassness insults us. It is a perfectly reasonable arrangement and is typical to families of our size. Why do you resist me?”

“Because you have been nothing but a quaint and provincial nuisance to me. Always clucking when I am home about my character and goings-on. You’re petulant and small-minded, and you are out of your depth in this! You wouldn’t know how to compromise an argument between the wind and the sky.”

“So is that why she wrote to me and compelled me to be here and back her play in the face of your onslaught then, Tristan? To prove to everyone just how small-minded and quaint she is?” Theia resented it, but the same nerve in her body that ordered her to defend her sister from attack was still very much alive. Her admonition sent everyone into an open-mouthed confusion – well, except for Lucilla, who looked mortified.

Tristan squirmed. “Aha! I knew your existence here was merely an aggravation! You have no reason to be here, you trout!” truly a tactful nobleman.

“Oh, shut up, you moronic toad of a boy!” Theia stood from her chair, leading everyone to flinch, not just from the noise, but from the expectation of what happens when a Mage loses their temper. The faces she was met with disgusted her, because she knew, she knew just what they were afraid of when the only closed their mouths.

“I am here because I have some shred of integrity in my bones, and a persuasive Diplomat who compels me to feel dedicated to this mess of a family.”

At that, a chilling laugh came from Lady Diana. She even clapped, entertained at the sight of it all.

“My dear, we all know why you treasure that Antivan pet of yours, and persuasion is an inadequate euphemism.”

“Diana!” Collin scolded, but it was too late. The frost powers in Theia’s palms showed themselves as she crunched her hands into fists, feeling the shifting and cracking icicles underneath her force. When everyone noticed, she felt the self-consciousness she was raised with. It angered her beyond comprehension.

Stilling herself, she took a breath, and the ice waned. But, the seething in her gut remained.

“Call any one of my personnel or company a pet again and I will see to it your fountain of youth elixirs come with a generous dosage of hemlock, my Lady Aunt,” she hissed in a low, lethal tone.

“Death doesn’t spur me, my dear, it is the likes of you who show up in honorable homes to cause disruption within the traditions of family. The day you were born, my sister’s life was cursed, and now your shadow rejoins us to remind us all of just how unfortunate she was. How unfortunate we all are, to have an ill-taken branch in our family tree.”

“Well then, allow me to be pruned from you all for good. Lucilla, you have gotten this far, pick up the shield for your own battle and finish it like a woman,” Theia slammed her fists sharply on the table before stepping away from it. As she felt released from the disastrous situation, her brother arose as well in a hurry to block her path.

“You go where I allow you to go as heir of this Estate!” he raged with false authority. Lord Trevelyan was about to intercede, but he was all-too-slow to account for misdeeds in his own family.

No need. Like clockwork, Theia kicked her brother square in the chest, and while he leg was exposed from her gown’s impossible skirts she slid out a hidden dagger blade attached to her thigh. In a snap, she was up in his face, holding the dagger in an underhanded grip up against his sniffling throat, trying to recover the breath she had swiftly kicked from his lungs.

“Y-y-y-ou, y-you…” he muttered, shaking.

“Ugh, typical. Let me guess, you thought I only knew how to freeze your mouth shut. Well, turns out brother, I also know how to slice your tongue from your throat. Leading a force of warriors, assassins, rogues, archers, and yes, mages, leaves you with an array of skillsets at your disposal,” she spoke up against his jaw, a growl residing in her throat.

Collin stood by, watching in concern as his daughter let her teeth show in more ways than one. Lucilla feigned concern as well, but, deep down it was a sick thrill she got from watching her brother stand to get the crap kicked out of him.

“Theia, enough,” their Father said quietly, betraying the urgency of the scene with his stoicism.

Theia spat on her brother’s well-tailored coat, stepping back and tossing the blade in the air briefly, rotating her hand and catching it with ease.

“You’re like all men I’ve cornered with a weapon. Soiled, pitiful, and not worth your weight in wood.” She then stuck the dagger blade into the corner of the dining table, by Lady Diana’s left hand side, before exiting the room.

“Here, a gift for my sister, after she inherits dust from you,” she growled over her shoulder.

Stomping down the hall, she almost begged for the dagger to be thrown at her back, to make shit actually interesting.

–

They sat beside each other in plush lounge chairs laced with fur and hide on the trim, by the fireplace of Lady Montilyet’s guest room. There was a silence for a few moments after Theia had filled her in on just how well it went. Theia leaned to one side of the chair, her leg straightened out due to her slumped posture, as she stared blankly into the fire.

“I suppose the silver lining is that your Brother knows to fear you and not manage you. It is a pity he does not feel such reverence for your sister,” Josephine remarked, holding a chalice of wine in her lap. Turns out, if you drink it in small sips and hold the breath in your nose, the Free Marches wine was bearable.

“He never stood to have such power. I don’t even know why I bothered, I just wanted him to quit his mouthing. Diana has clearly corrupted his ego, he acts like her puppet, I can smell it.”

“Such dynamics are common place particularly between matriarchs and male heirs in Orlesian nobility.”

“Lucilla says he spends all his allowance in the city and only returns home to be lazy. How am I to trust that his actions are that harmless and conventional? She looks sincerely concerned, and Father is borderline inept.”

“Perhaps she knows something he does not, or your Father is motivating your sister from behind closed doors to push her fortune.”

Theia laid her head back and rolled her eyes. “Why can’t he just say, hey, son, piss off, you’re an idiot and your sister knows what she’s doing? Why is it always back-handed promises and double-deals? I just want to do what I came here to do and go back to Skyhold, not be enveloped in a pointless game.”

“Careful, mi amor. You may yet prelude a scandal that your lineage is, in fact, Fereldan.”

Both women managed to chuckle. Josephine’s jokes were too rare to go unrecognized.

“I spend so little time around Cullen outside of work it is a wonder he has impacted my personality this much. I can’t think of…”

They looked at each other, realizing at the same moment, the same name and meaning.

“Varric,” they said in unison.

Theia adjusted her seat, the fatigue in her body settling in. Josephine’s immaculate stature couldn’t be bothered with showing mortal duress.

“So, they really called me your Antivan pet?” Josephine’s chin tilted.

“Yes, and believe me, if it were any other place, the room would now be an ice cave with bodies to excavate.”

Josephine gave a smug grin. “If not, I am sure Leliana would make a convincing argument for why her Ravens need a more diverse diet.”

“If she wouldn’t, I would.”

“You Free Marchers are always so fundamental in your insults, it is positively demoralizing. I once had a noblewoman call me a name in the form of a sonnet, all the while having her servant relieve in my potted garden plants in the Embassy foyer. Now that is an insult worthy of my time.”

Theia choked on the gulp of wine she had been taking whilst Josephine told the story. Holding the back of her hand to her mouth as she lurched forward, she coughed up a rejoinder:

“How in the world did you inspire such anger?”

Josephine rolled her shoulders back. “I caught her merchants in an illegal nug-breeding ring and had her treaties rescinded for three years pending reparations and a generous donation to the rescue and rehabilitation efforts.”

Theia raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess – a tip from Sister Nightingale?”

“Precisely. And, perhaps the woman’s influence on the Court had been a thorn in my side for months. I was hardly remorseful.”

Theia watched as Josephine took a coy sip of wine. “Josephine, I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you leave me so speechlessly attracted to you I think I may as well strip down to my smallclothes and beg for mercy.”

Josephine rolled her eyes. “Not the first, nor the last woman to be inclined to do so, if you keep insisting I must attend this excursions and field the Game.”

–

In the middle of the night, a slip of paper was slid under Theia’s door, and the Inquisitor’s developed intuition for bumps in the night made her privy to it quickly. The note invited her to breakfast in the morning, where the “family meeting” would reconvene, this time with the goal of finishing the dispute once and for all. Even though they had not written notes to each other since childhood, Theia knew it was Lucilla’s handwriting.

Early in the morning, Theia dressed and readied herself with time to spare. Wandering out to the balcony terrace alone, she saw that same sister, also dressed and primed for battle, standing at the railing and overseeing the gardens. Meandering over, she held the shawl she brought along around her shoulders snuggly.

“You still a blabbering insomniac?” Theia asked without manners, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister who was but an inch taller.

Lucilla, in rare form, giggled.

“Theia, you insufferable hag.”

“Green-toed wench.”

“Sap-stuck Harlot.”

“Potato-peeled—“

“Theia!”

The younger Trevelyan daughter held back a fiendish laugh, one she had not felt in her chest for a long time.

“Forgive me, I get so few chances to be childish and vulgar.”

“From what I hear, you still do it just as often, only with better-armed company to defend you.”

Theia chuckled again, nodding with humility. “Perhaps. Can you blame me? I was never one for the coquettish life.”

Lucilla turned to face the opposite direction, leaning herself back onto the railing as she peered at her sister from over her shoulder. “Yes, Theia, but you also gamble with the fate of nations. Don’t think for a second that we aren’t aware of the brevity of your actions. You have assumed a role lauded only a couple of times in history. I know that, and so does Father. He wishes you would rely on the family for strength.”

“I have no intention to do so, my cause is not that of the Trevelyan house’s political progress, it is for the sake of the world.”

“I did not mean for wealth. I meant for…emotional support. Surely, everyone needs family.”

“I needed family once, and it was the worst mistake of my life. I don’t feel compelled to make the same one twice.”

Lucilla put her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “The Inquisition will not last forever. One day, you will be forced to make something of your life, not as Inquisitor, but as Theia Sofia of Bann Trevelyan. You will need a home, a family, and purpose again. I would hope you would come to us for that.”

“Lucilla, I know Mother is now dead, but you can’t erase what she’s done to sever me from you. From the family. She destroyed so many prospects for me, so many possibilities. The Circle was a place of brutality, and the Rebellion an open-range blood bath. I am who I am not because of this family, but in spite of it.”

“Surely, you do not think all of us equally guilty for Mother’s authority.”

Theia’s jaw clenched as her eyes scanned the horizon. “You stood by whilst I defended you from attacks and bullying for years, and never once did you go to our parents for a reprieve. You watched me be alienated into obscurity, and then banished from my birthright. Even as a child, did you not one time, question that?”

Lucilla paused, anchoring her hands on the edge of the stone rail she leaned against.

“Theia, I…I cannot possibly tell you how much I regret my inactions. Even as a mage, you were still my sister, and you were my protector even as young as you were. I regretted what should have been my role. I should have been your defender, your mentor, and instead I threw you to the wolves. But, Mother would not hear it even if I did anything. She was stone-faced in her convictions, even with Father’s compassion.”

“If Father had compassion, he must have done so in private with locked doors.”

“Theia, he had more than that for you…” she hesitated, eyeing the doorways and windows for any faces or figures, before leaning in towards Theia’s ear. “He knows where your magic came from. It is in the Trevelyan line, and the family has taken great care to have it covered up throughout the decades. You were a fluke that was never supposed to occur. The deception ruined their marriage, Mother was devastated. She felt she had been tricked into being the broodmare for Mage abominations.”

Theia listened, her stomach sinking with shock and dread. Her Father’s apologetic demeanor was the tip of the ice berg for all he felt he owed her, and rightfully so. His choices damned a child of his own.

“As heartfelt as that sounds, it does not absolve them from what they did. I am not here to get my piece of a pie that has left a sour taste in my mouth. I am here to be your advocate and nothing more. I will see you at breakfast, Sister.” Theia turned and withdrew from the garden balcony, leaving her sister to cross her arms, wondering just what it would take to soften Theia’s heart. Perhaps it was a naïve venture after all.

–

The formal dining hall lacked the intimacy of the family one, but then again, it also lacked the noticeable dagger cut in the table wood as well. A logical change of scenery for what was supposed to be a clean break.

They all sat at the table now, looking like they were all about to be spoon-fed ants for breakfast. Tristan and Lady Diana on one end, and the remaining three on the other. Though, this time, Lady Josephine joined them, sitting beside Theia and opposite her brother. Theia never daydreamed about bringing her lover home to meet the family – quite the contrary – but even she had to admit it was funny.

As servants filed in with dishes of food, the room remained somber. Watching as the plate of fruit and bread was placed in front of her, it brought back old, faint memories of such rituals in her childhood. There were many quiet meals then, spent in the air of tension and malice.

“It is such a treasure to have you join us here, Lady Montilyet. I hear you are quite the formidable Diplomat,” Lord Trevelyan broke the silence as everyone began to grab timidly at eating utensils.

Josephine, a veteran in such situations, picked up her fork and began demurely slicing the fruit into smaller bite-sized chunks. “Thank you, My Lord. It is always heartening to hear such compliments from esteemed Gentlemen such as yourself.”

“Pleasure is all mine. I must say, I have always wished to visit Antiva. Is the weather there as temperate as they say?”

Theia took a bite of a citrus fruit, feeling the sourness paled in comparison to the feeling she got hearing her estranged Father make conversation with the woman she was mouth-deep in two nights ago.

“Although I am biased, Antiva’s climate is lauded across Thedas it is well-deserved praise. I would highly recommend a visit during the winter, it is an ideal respite from the seasons of the Free Marches. Though, I must admit, the scenery in this region is quite vast,” Josephine spoke artfully between bites.

Lucilla chimed in now. “Theia hardly ever writes to us about her allies and travels. I must say, she is more tan-skinned than I have ever known her to be!” Lucilla giggled.

“Lucilla, you forget when you last saw me I was being kept indoors for fear of being inspired by the inclement weather in my…moods,” Theia corrected, holding her glass up as she prepared to take a sip of water.

“Still, I envy you. I believe some color on the skin always adds an air of healthiness and vitality to one’s complexion. “

“Do not be foolish, Lucilla, if anything it should be the Ambassador pining for your pristine, clean aesthetics that inspire sculpture and artwork through the ages. Such beauty outlasts the trends of the decade,” Lady Diana’s sharp tongue evoked a head turn from everyone at the table, Lady Josephine included.

Theia’s chest broiled with defensive anger. “Diana, I swea—“

“Now, Inquisitor, do not be so brash. I understand the Lady Diana’s humor, I am no naïve muse to the linguistics of nobility. Your forget I am noble-born as well,” her voice was deceptively kind and unassuming.

“Good girl. I am delighted to finally be in the company of a young woman who yet knows her place,” Diana retorted, her demeaning of Theia’s personality taking another slice into the air. But, her victory was short-lived.

“Indeed, Madame, I am quite privy to the positionality of everyone, in fact. It helps me understand people’s likes, dislikes, their joys, and comforts. Such is the responsibility of a Diplomat and Ambassador. In fact, such an occupation requires me to do a great deal of inference towards the proclivities of women…”

Theia heard the tone switch in Josephine’s voice that only she could pick up on and understand. Taking a sip of water, her eyebrows raised as she made eye contact with her sister Lucilla across the table, making a face of oh no, no this is not going to end well. Lucilla chewed her food, covering her face of oh please do tell.

“I see. Well, I believe that is to be expected, noblewomen are the hallmarks of the Orlesian aristocracy.” Diana assumed to be in the loop as always, but the situation deceived her. Josephine swallowed her latest mouthful and continued the exposition.

“You are quite right. I have had extensive practice in the field. Years of observation, mentorship, and studies of the art of persuasion, conversation, and seduction of opinions. It takes an extensive amount of time, building oneself up to the point of revelation that you are, in fact, prepared for the role. You could say the hand of fate takes many twists and turns, encircling whichever way, and you feel quite overwhelmed at times to the point of speechless exhaustion. Just when you feel as though you have arrived, positions change, or pathways of communication become less flexible than they were, less supple and pliable, you could say…”

Looking diagonally across, Theia could see her brother, her poor, simple-minded brother, besotted as he chewed the mouthful of food he forked into his face way too long ago.

“I see, and what was it like for you, Lady Ambassador, when you realized your training had ended?” Lady Diana, still not having a clue.

Oh for Maker’s sake.

“Why, it was revelatory. Euphoria. I spent hours and hours reflecting on it afterward in solemn privacy, away from the lurking eyes and ears of the Court. I could hardly keep my hands to myself, the ecstasy was far and away the most momentous of my career. I have longed to recreate such a climax ever since.”

The sound of Theia choking on her food briefly marked the audible period to the end of the Lady Ambassador’s sentence. She promptly put the napkin she had on her lap to her mouth, trying to cover up the reaction.

Josephine, satisfied and continuing to eat as if she had been discussing what the best floral arrangements were for the Garden in spring, knew all-too-well what caused Theia’s condition. Lucilla, too, hid her entertained demeanor.

“Well I do say, you look as if you glow from such experience!” Lord Trevelyan, also oblivious, and making Theia swear off the hazard of trying to drink water for the remainder of the meal.

Josephine was all-too-happy to agree. “Thank you, Lord Trevelyan. Most of the women of Antiva are blessed with such aesthetics. It is commonplace to be the topic of men’s affections well into our 60th or 70th year, but, I do not mean to be so crass. It is not fair to boast of one’s people as if they are the feigned muses of artwork, poetry, and writing as Antivans are,” Josephine took another sliver of apple, chewing on the taste of victory. Lady Diana looked as if she were ready to bite off an edge of the fine China.

“My dear Theia, you do us an injustice by not introducing us to your colleagues, I can tell by this lovely woman’s company that they must be simply brilliant to be around,” Lucilla set her silverware down and sat politely in her chair.

“Yes, I have to admit, I do have a reluctance to share in my good company, I feel instantly jealous at the thought of it,” Theia played, seeing her Father smile with relief to be in the midst of an actual pleasant conversation.

Not long after that comment, the servants returned to collect dishes. This interruption inspired an abrupt mood change for Tristan, who finally realized that chewing on the same bite for two minutes did not, in fact, make sense.

“Enough with this small-talk. I have come here to finish business so that I may finally leave and return to Val Royeaux. Lucilla, you will drop this mutiny you have on my birthright immediately or I shall be forced to threaten your inheritance from our Father!”

Theia sat back, marveling at the moronic nature of her blood kin.

“Tristan, you act like an intemperate child. You will do no such thing!” Lucilla barked back.

“My son, your sister is right. You must listen to reason—“

“I will do no such thing for her siren song of meek and mild maidenhood. She has poisoned you all against me with her rouse. I will have none of it!”

Lady Diana watched from the corner of her eye, looking a little bit to smug for someone who spoke so little. Theia was keen to take note, as was her companion and Ambassador, though they showed it in different ways.

“Father, surely you have the authority to tell Tristan what he can and cannot do, you are still head of the household,” Theia reasoned, resting her wrists on the edge of the table. Lord Trevelyan met her gaze with one of pessimism.

“Theia, I cannot defer an inheritance without suitable cause, either sickness, death, an explicit statement in your Mother’s will, or a sign of questionable character and morality on the part of your brother that can be met with material evidence. We have none of those.”

Theia sighed, her eyes moving to her brother who also looked too smug for his own good.

“Actually, if I may Lord Trevelyan, I believe you do yet have one of those resources at your disposal. If you’ll excuse my impropriety..”

Theia quickly looked to see Josephine hiking up her own thick dress skirts, revealing a pile of folded documents strapped to her own thigh. Turns out the fashion style of the Free Marches left women with little options for storage, and both the Ladies Montilyet and Trevelyan made do.

Adjusting her skirts back to where they were, she tapped the bottom of the paper stack on the table to even the pile, and handed it over to the Lord of the House. As he took hold of them, she continued her talking.

“I have apprehended copies of filed gambling debts from the Capital under the name Trevelyan, first name Tristan. These have been amassed over several weeks, not months – I checked three times to be sure – and have been delayed without proper cause for yet even more weeks. These were signed and witnessed by several of who I would imagine are the young Lord Trevelyan’s companions. If that does not suffice, I also have the testimony of two other young peers who would be more than willing to give credence to the displayed impulsivity and idleness these debts allude to. My investigation was called upon by no other than your daughter, Lady Theia, and supported by Lady Lucilla, in the hopes of maintaining integrity under the Bann Trevelyan name.”

Theia was ready to faint like a Lady who had tightened her corset too tight in the morning before walking in the heat of the day. Yet, for as much as this had surprised her, she did her best to keep a façade of assurance. Lucilla as well, although she looked ready to beam out the door yelling with enraptured joy.

Lady Diana was quick to turn the tide, or at least, attempt to.

“These debts are hardly an impact on the Bann Trevelyan’s funds. I imagine we give triple the amount to the Chantry in a given season.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed as she turned to face the Comtesse. “I agree that the Madame does indeed have knowledge on the subject, since she is also named in these reports under an alias. That alias was tracked by some of the Inquisition’s personnel to the moniker of a “Comtesse Violet,” which is intriguingly similar to an alias noted in two separate investigations for extortion of good from Merchants in the capital who rely on regional resources from the Free Marches. I believe I recall some of the named items being elixirs, potions, and oils derived from apothecaries specializing in health, vitality, and beauty.”

Lucilla couldn’t help but have a revelatory smile, watching her brother incrementally shrink into his chair. Lady Diana meanwhile looked ready to grab a knife from the table-set and do as her niece did the day before, only with someone’s neck underneath it.

Theia looked to her Father, who eyed the documents with scrutiny.

“This…this is all legitimate. The parchment, seals, and signatures, all valid,” he commented.

“Then, surely, you can claim before a court that your son is underprepared to take on the influx of wealth from Mother’s estate and instead make it an agreed collaboration between us as siblings and heirs!” Lucilla exclaimed, hopping in her seat as she did so.

“Yes, I…I think I can!”

Lady Diana erupted from her chair, grabbing the napkin that rested in her lap and tossing it on the table.

“This is outrageous! A lewd and slanderous claim made by an greedy Antivan witch!”

Josephine held a finger up toward the Comtesse in critique. “I believe the proper terminology, My Lady, would be Chief Ambassador and Diplomat to the Inquisition, and a proud Antivan woman who is undaunted by the salacious remarks of a matron who uses her nephew as a shallow political pawn to progress her crimes that degrade the title which comes before her name.”

Theia was humiliated by it on the inside, but in her mind all she could think about was how much she wanted to hoist Josephine onto the table and take her right there, right now.

“My dear Sister,” Lord Trevelyan mocked, “You may see yourself out of this dining room, to collect your temper and prepare for the filing I will make against you, turning in you for your wrongdoings. I suggest you take time to pray, and lament on the good fortune you have so hastily squandered.”

Lady Diana’s pale, wrinkled face looked ready to spit venom. She let out a furious growl, before stomping out of the room and slamming the door behind her. Her heeled shoes could be heard in a running pace, undoubtedly for the front door.

“Do not worry, my door man hates her. He will stop her in her tracks,” Lord Trevelyan’s confident candor was more familiar to Theia, reminiscent of the man she knew as a child. In an odd twist, she felt relief to hear it.

“Lady Montilyet, I cannot tell you how indebted I am to you and your work,” Lucilla leaned into the table, clasping her hands together.

“It is no issue at all, Lady Lucilla. I merely work on the side of fairness and virtue, as we all do. Well, most of us,” she said, her gaze going to Tristan, who was stunned into silent subordination in his seat.

“What now, Tristan, you soil your smallclothes yet again?” Theia sneered, rising from her chair and coming closer to her Father’s side.

“You…you…you will pay for this!” he yelled at Josephine, immediately grabbing at a knife from the table and lunging clumsily in her direction. It was enough to make Josephine lurch backward, but it was no danger past that. At once, Theia had lifted a hand and blasted with a static pulse, paralyzing him temporarily as he fell to the floor, blubbering once again like a fool.

“I warned you, you insolent newt. You come for my woman again and you won’t know your eyes from frog eggs.”

Josephine’s posture spoke of a woman untouchable by anything or anyone in that moment. She grinned with the smugness now.

“Lucilla, get the guards to come and carry my foolish son to his room, and lock the door as well,” Lord Trevelyan asked softly. Lucilla was all-too-ready to do so, and bounded out the room like she could skip and not run.

Lord Trevelyan then rose and turned to his second daughter, his eyes full of the regret he felt for marginalizing her, and joy at seeing her alive and capable.

“Theia, you humble this nobleman. Thank you for coming here, even when you owed absolutely nothing to me.”

Theia felt him take hold of her arms once more, rubbing them comfortingly, like he did once or twice in her youth. Her heart ached in that moment.

“Father, it is my responsibility. I don’t wish for anything in return. I have all that I need, just be safe, and take care of Lucilla.”

“With the way she mobilized you and your Ambassador, I am afraid she will have to take care of me.”

Theia smiled softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know of the secret you kept from Mother. The family, the…heritage, I have. I want to know more, and I believe you know more than you told her. If I write, will you send me everything you know, everything you have on the lineage?”

Lord Trevelyan was caught off-guard by her knowledge, feeling sensitive about details which had brought so much pain into his life, into his marriage that was now non-existent. But, in the death of one bond, he saw the chance at rebuilding another that he had lost out on, and always profoundly regretted.

“For you, anything, my darling.” He then pulled her into a hug. The first hug of a Father in over a decade. This made Theia’s eyes well with tears as she had her cheek against his chest, and the resistance in her body gave way, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Josephine smiled as she witnessed this. She knew just how poignant it was, and how much this would change things for the woman she loved. It would not be a linear process of healing, but it was a start.

–

Theia secured her hooded cape across her shoulders as the last two luggage bags were placed on their carriage. Now they all stood in assembly of their farewell – well, Lucilla and her father – and tearfully so. Theia faced her sister, who looked as if she had just gotten a firebug caught in a jar and had to let it go before she could see it flicker.

“I promised Father I would write, and I will include a note to you, you have my word,” Theia promised.

Lucilla let a solemn tear fall as she pulled Theia in for an impulsive hug. She inhaled sharply as she held her sister close. “You do that, or else I’m sending butcher meat in a box to your door for a week.”

Theia smirked, remembering an old prank that had quickly gone awry. “I am sure my Spymaster would adore that.”

She pulled away, but rubbed her sister’s arms for solace before truly breaking away. Then, she approached her father, who also looked as though he was choking back emotion.

“Theia, I never got to say it, but, what your life has incurred…what your Mother did was…”

“I know, Father. I have known for years. I do not need you to speak it, it has been my truth all this time. I thought I made peace with it, but, being here has shown me there is still a wound that needs healing. I am not the girl I was, and I am not the woman I was, either. But, for better or worse, I am your daughter.”

His eyes reddened now, failing to keep up the appearance of a stoic, unaffected Father. She liked this one better, though.

He hugged her one last time, feeling as though such a blessing would never happen again.

“Goodbye, my daughter. You will survive this trial, and rise triumphant. You are a Trevelyan.”

As she listened to him speak over her shoulder, she felt the whirlwind of it all: a Trevelyan in name but not in heart, that is what she would always say. Now, it was complicated, and it was painful.

Releasing herself from the embrace, she took a step back and waited for Josephine to finish farewells. Watching her sister embrace the woman she loved was heartening, if not awkward in some small way.

“Thank you, Lady Montilyet. You have my endless gratitude,” Lucilla reaffirmed.

“Don’t say that, she may write you requesting you sabotage an entire Soiree,” Theia teased, causing Josephine to scoff.

“I would do no such thing! But, my Lady, I will happily write when I am in need of contacts to obtain some wine from this region. I find it has grown on my tastes.”

Lord Trevelyan gave a strong hug to the Ambassador as well, generous and kind. “You take care of my daughter, Ambassador. She has the wits from her parents, but she has also gained a penchant for trouble. She needs someone like you to back her play.”

Theia grinned, feeling an authentic sensation of endearment.

Josephine nodded. “My Lord, it is the honor of my life to stand at her side for our cause. I promise you, I will work to the best of my ability.”

The two ladies then boarded the carriage, and soon they were off and moving on from the Trevelyan Estate. Waving through the window, Josephine smiled contentedly as she turned her attention towards her traveling companion.

“I do not wish to tempt fate by saying I told you so, but…”

“Josephine, if you do not make endless and ravenous love to me on the boat home, you lose my love forever,” Theia’s joke was part jest, part riled arousal. She was indebted to this Goddess of a woman ‘til Kingdom Come.

Josephine’s eyebrow raised, surprised but not disappointed.

“All this to get around paying me the salary I deserve, I see. Very well, but I intend on securing my due reward for my dedication.”

“For you, Ambassador?” Theia slid over, her mouth going to Josephine’s neck, “anything.”


End file.
